The wind moved quietly through the ruined clearing.
"Dresvalle…" Draven repeated softly.
He let the name settle in his mind.
A city meant infrastructure.
Population.
Ley intersections.
Hidden circles.
He could almost see it already—ritual chambers buried beneath cobbled streets, suppressed mana signatures tucked behind respectable guild façades, desperation disguised as scholarship.
The cultist kept his head bowed.
"In the lower district, my lord," he added carefully. "Beneath the old aqueduct ruins. There is a sealed chamber there. The breach calculations are preserved within it. The circle is incomplete—but intact."
Aldric scoffed.
"Of course it's beneath something. Why are these idiots always underground?"
The cultist ignored him.
"With three additional mages of the fourth circle," he continued, "and the proper offering threshold, we could open a stabilized descent for several breaths."
"Several breaths," Draven repeated.
"That would be enough."
Enough.
Draven's eyes shifted slightly.
Forty percent.
One more named entity of similar density—
He could reach the threshold.
Two—
He would surpass it.
He exhaled slowly.
"And why," Draven asked calmly, "have they not done it already?"
The cultist hesitated.
"Because… none of them survived the last attempt."
Aldric let out a dry laugh.
"There it is."
"They lacked an anchor," the cultist continued quickly. "They lacked someone who could endure the descent."
His head lowered further.
"But you do not."
Silence followed.
Draven turned slightly, looking out over the devastated clearing one last time.
The corpse at his feet.
The blood on his hands.
The sealed scar in the sky.
He flexed his fingers once.
The compressed mana inside him pulsed in slow, heavy waves.
Controlled.
Stable.
Hungry.
Aldric stepped closer, his voice lower now.
"You realize this is a trap waiting to happen."
"Maybe," Draven replied simply.
"And you're still considering it."
"Yeah."
Aldric stared at him.
"…You've lost it."
Draven finally glanced at him.
His crimson eyes were steady.
"I am accelerating."
A faint chill passed through the air at the way he said it.
He looked back down at the cultist.
"You will guide us."
The cultist's breath hitched.
"Yes, my lord."
"If you lie to me," Draven continued calmly, "I will not kill you quickly."
"I understand."
Draven stepped back.
"Good."
He turned toward Vaelith and the children.
"Get ready to move."
Aldric threw his hands up slightly.
"So that's it? We're just marching into some underground summoner nest in Eryndor?"
Draven began walking.
"Shut up."
The cultist scrambled to his feet and hurried to follow, careful to remain a half-step behind.
Lyriana watched him closely.
Vaelith adjusted her hold on Elenya, who had begun babbling again as though none of this concerned her.
As they left the ruined battlefield behind, Aldric muttered under his breath—
"If this explodes in our faces, you're going to be the one to blame."
Draven didn't slow.
It might explode.
It might be a trap.
It might collapse the moment the breach opened.
But that didn't matter.
Because if another named entity descended—
He would consume it.
And this time—
He would not stop at forty percent.
---
Aldric was still muttering when Lyriana finally spoke.
"That's the neighboring kingdom," she said calmly.
He looked at her.
"Eryndor?"
"Yes."
Her gaze shifted toward the distant horizon as they moved away from the clearing.
"It lies east of our current route. We were going to pass near its border soon anyway."
Aldric frowned slightly. "Near it. Not through its underground cult basements."
Lyriana ignored the sarcasm.
"Dresvalle is a trade-heavy city," she continued. "The lower districts are crowded. A transient population. Foreign caravans. It is the perfect place for hidden ritual activity."
The cultist nodded quickly.
"Yes. The population density helps mask mana fluctuations. The aqueduct ruins predate the current kingdom's foundation. Few inspect them."
Draven walked ahead in silence.
His pace was steady.
Unhurried.
Deliberate.
"So this isn't some massive detour," Aldric muttered.
"No," Lyriana replied. "Strategically, it aligns with our path."
Aldric glanced at Draven's back.
"You already knew that, didn't you?"
Draven did not answer.
But the faintest curve touched his bloodstained lips.
He had known Eryndor bordered their trajectory.
He had known a city like Dresvalle would rest upon layered infrastructure.
He had asked *where* not out of curiosity—
But for confirmation.
The cultist walked carefully behind them, keeping his mana suppressed.
"My lord," he said cautiously, "if we move quickly, we can reach the outer territories of Eryndor within three days."
Draven spoke without turning.
"We move tonight."
Aldric sighed heavily.
"Of course we do."
---
The night was thinning.
A faint gray line had begun forming along the eastern horizon.
Aldric noticed it first, irritation flashing across his face.
"The sun's about to rise," he said sharply. "We're not continuing like this. We need somewhere to stay."
The cultist blinked, confused.
"…Why would that prevent us from moving?"
Aldric stared at him.
"Are you actually that stupid?"
The cultist stiffened.
"Increased visibility does not affect my suppression lattice—"
"I'm not talking about you," Aldric snapped.
He jerked his chin toward Draven.
"Any random idiot in a roadside tavern would recognize him in one look. There's a bounty on his head, remember? Or did fanatic devotion wipe that from your memory too?"
The cultist's expression shifted subtly.
He looked at Draven properly this time.
Dark skin.
White hair.
Pointed ears.
Unconcealed.
Even stained with dried blood and dressed in travel-worn clothing—
He was distinctive.
Unmistakable.
"…Ah," the cultist said quietly.
Aldric folded his arms.
"Yeah. 'Ah.' That."
Lyriana exhaled slowly.
"Eryndor may not enforce the same warrants as our side of the border," she said calmly, "but bounty notices travel faster than caravans."
The cultist lowered his gaze.
"Then… are we to conceal my lord?"
Aldric scoffed.
"That was the point of the artifact that just got fried, son of the Vampire King."
The cultist gave a short, awkward giggle.
"I know that."
"Then why were you still asking?" Aldric shot back. "Have you ever seen a vampire willingly walk into the sun?"
The cultist glanced around.
"So… you're all vampires?"
Silence settled briefly.
Draven had not spoken during any of this.
He simply walked.
The growing light of dawn caught faintly in his white hair.
Aldric glanced at him again.
"…Or are you just not worried?" he asked more quietly now. "You think anyone who recognizes you won't matter?"
Draven finally slowed.
He looked toward the brightening horizon.
Then toward the distant silhouette of forest ahead.
"I am not interested in announcing myself," he said calmly.
"So we stop," Aldric pressed.
"Yes."
The cultist hesitated, then spoke quickly.
"There is an abandoned watchtower half a league ahead. The upper level has collapsed, but the lower structure remains intact. It has not been used in years."
Aldric narrowed his eyes.
"And you're sure it's not full of your friends?"
"It is not."
Draven resumed walking.
"Lead."
The cultist moved ahead immediately.
Aldric muttered as he fell into step beside Lyriana.
"If this turns into an ambush, I'm blaming the idiot."
Lyriana didn't look at him.
"You were going to blame someone regardless."
The sky continued to lighten.
Behind Draven's calm expression—
The calculations never stopped.